Ghana: Diary of a Son's Sankofa Return: (Becoming Kweku)

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Copyright 2015 WILLIE (KWEKU) SINGLETON.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4269-0635-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-5982-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-0636-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015904925

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CONTENTS

Author’s Notes

Dedication

The Hype

The Door Opens

Newark To London

Heathrow To Gatwick

Gatwick To Accra, Ghana

Checking In

To Exit Kotoka Airport

Kotoka To North Legon

Seeing, Listening And Learning

Seeing, Listening And Learning

(Akwaaba)

Seeing, Listening And Learning

Torto

Coconuts, Fufu And Yam

Abu Tum Dam Poh Pii

Culture Shock

Gye Nyame

Thawing Out

Botanical Gardens

Negotiation 101

The Compliments

Osagyefo

No Bribe

Truth Deferred

The Demon

Naming Conventions

Tema

Cape Coast

Elmina

The Gang (Joy)

The Gang (Adolph)

The Gang - Theophilus (Theo)

The Disc Jockey

Full Stomach

Tension In The Trees

Akosombo Dam

Dubois Cultural Center

Kumasi Festival

Kumasi Festival

D - Day Minus 1

The Jigsaw Puzzle

Science V Mom

Back At Work

The Blissfully Ignorant

A Brief Political History Of Ghana

Glossary

AUTHOR’S NOTES

SANKOFA

(Return and take it)

Since a visit to Ghana was my first opportunity to visit a country in Africa, Ghana became symbolic of my unknown past. Without knowing the African country, in which my ancestors originated, I (sans bias) tend to identify with all the African countries. I think of me as a Pan African. Despite Thomas Wolfe’s words, you can’t go home again, I wanted to go home… I chose to go home… I went home.

From Adinkra symbolisms, the sankofa symbol is represented by a bird reaching back for an egg on its back or sometimes as a fancily designed heart. From the Adinkra, the word means return and take it. S-a-n-k-o-f-a is a phonetic spelling of the word. The Akan have some alphabet characters not present in the English language. The ‘o’ is sometimes replaced by a character that resembles a backward ‘c’ and is pronounced ‘aw’.

Sankofa Symbols

The Akan proverb, Se wo were fi na wosan kofa a yennkyi, translates to English as It is no taboo to return and fetch it when you forget. You can always undo your mistakes.

This diary narrates my attempts to learn something of what the past once was for those who came before me. My history did not begin with the transatlantic slave trade and certainly not with the Berlin Conference where Africa was carved up and divided among several European countries.

DEDICATION

Through Fred Winston Laryea, I met Nii Amarkai Laryea Fred’s alter ego. Nii Amarkai made my trip to Ghana a reality. Unequivocally, the trip was Will-centric. It was all about me. Thanks… without you… supposition… because of you, a real life experience. As I always hoped, my first trip abroad did lead to the African continent. Without your help with the first step (Ghana), perhaps there would have been no Ivory Coast, Nigeria, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, or South Africa This book, I sincerely dedicate to Nii Amarkai Laryea and to Atieno whose love, patience, and support make all my endeavors reality.

THE HYPE

Most days in my life

Africa was diminished

By negative hype

I have always believed that there was something special and positive about Africa. So many negative things were expressed about that continent that there had to be much more positives to it. That line of thinking may not sway many polemics, but it was a beginning for me.

Not barbarism … not brutal or raw

The importation of a ‘man’

Euphemistically … ‘tagged’ by the ‘law’

Civilizing the African

My generation grew up permeated with such overt tenets as: The slave trade was the best thing that happened to America’s blacks. Clothes were put on their naked bodies, and they were fed when taken out of Africa. By and large, the slave masters were kind benevolent people and were loved by their slaves. Africa, and consequently Africans, have never contributed anything to world culture. In addition to this, all eyes could see that a white, Tarzan, reigned as the unchallenged and undisputed king of the dark continent.

There was more of that falderal, but I trust that you understand the bent. Childhood pals will tell you that I often questioned much of this. At an early age, I doubted that all Africans were primitives. Early on, I read of civilizations in ancient Mali and Ghana. Why was Egypt portrayed so differently, i.e. much more positive when compared to the other African countries? Was Egypt thought African? Did it have any link to black Africa? Were all of Egypt’s accomplishments from non African countries who had conquered it?

How many times have I seen and heard individuals from different parts of Africa asked… do you speak African. Those asking the question were black and white. As of today, I have yet to see/hear individuals from different parts of Europe asked… do you speak European… nor have I heard it asked of people from any other continent. Perhaps I missed it.

In one of my classes, I even gave a talk suggesting that if Jesus Christ were a Falasha or an original Jew, he may have been of African descent. My teacher and my classmates had extreme difficulty with that notion. More current to later times, I wondered where the heroic black cowboys and other black heroes were. Never were they shown on the movie screen and seldom mentioned in the history books. Until recently, any screen depiction of an African (from any country) was a caricature.

The whites in my multicultural school even called a strike and did not attend classes for close to two months. They didn’t want any black (sons/daughters of Africa) students attending… their school.

Classmates… black and white

had hopes of seeing Europe

I chose Africa

On graduating from high school, classmates, happily and eagerly, verbally expressed plans to one day visit the well publicized European capitals, e.g. London, Paris, Rome, Athens, etc. On desiring to see those capitals, there was a racial intersection. Many blacks also longed to see those same places. For me, any trip abroad, whenever and however unlikely at that time, had to lead to some country in Africa. My thoughts were unwavering.

When I went to the corporate world, the black population increased from 3 to 4 (a slight over exaggeration). In the company lunch room, a white cashier, directing her comment toward black employees, was heard to say jungle bunnies. She vehemently denied making the statement. In the lounge area, an oriental whispered… niggers. He, just as vehemently, denied making such a statement. No one pushed the matter… probably because he was suspected to be a karate master (loosen up and smile a bit… but just a bit).

One of my best friends was never able to convince his father that not all of Africa was dense jungle. A good black member of a Lutheran church once told me that black people had no culture at all. That pronouncement was traumatic to me and helped to serve as a catalyst motivating me to learn more about African culture… in my view… my culture.

In a way, I compare the trauma of people forcefully taken from the African continent to the psychological chaos that manifests itself when children are unwillingly taken away from one or both parents. A child living apart from one parent may get bombarded with disparaging comments about the missing parent. The commenter may be a parent, relative, or outsider. Eventually the child may begin to believe and echo the comments he/she has been bombarded with.

Perhaps the impact of the comments may cause the child to dislike the missing parent. Despite all that, others are able to ‘shake it off’ and not believe the negative hype. In fact, love for the absent parent may grow. My love for Africa grew. True to that thought, the time quickly came when many of my thoughts turned to wanting to see my parents, i.e. Africa, from whom I had been so long separated. I have no idea of the specific African country where my ancestors originated. Consequently, I cling to all of Africa.

Quite truthfully, as each year passed, I found myself procrastinating too often and did little or nothing to ensure that I would see some part of Africa. On one occasion, a friend told me about a group planning a trip to Sierra Leone. I agreed to go, but the trip never materialized. It may have been canceled.

THE DOOR OPENS

A few years later, I was affably nudged toward Africa, and the outcome of that nudge is what this diary is about. This writing is a partial account of my three and one-half week stay in Ghana, West Africa during the month of August 1992.

One born in Ghana

One of African descent

Two became good friends

Fred Laryea, who I met at work, seemed to be a nice enough person. At first, I didn’t know much about him other than he was African… For that matter, despite many opposing views, so am I. The first few times that I saw him, he was most often in the presence of Asians or whites.

That was true whether it was at lunch or on break. I don’t know that I consciously, or otherwise, responded to that, but I did notice it. Perhaps some negative vibes did exude… unconsciously that is. If so, some of you may think of me as racist for that. Admittedly, I am somewhat suspect when I see a brother or a sister so often outside the black wing. Putting it another way, he was never in the company of anyone black. Gather up all your data, and we can debate this if you wish… Should we agree to do so, let’s do it at a later date. At this time, I am not in a debating frame of mind.

Fred stopped me one day, and although unsolicited, he explained to me why he was so often in the presence of that company. If memory serves me accurately, it seems that he and the others had started work, with the company, at approximately the same time. It also seems that those comrades had made efforts to go their separate ways.

Some wanted to eat lunch with their own. At his appearance, others made remarks such as here comes the African monkey out of his tree. He was made to feel that he was tagging along. You and Fred can discuss those particulars. In any event, Fred and I became lunch buddies… and more importantly… friends.

Fred had invited another ‘brother’, David Miller, to go home with him to Ghana. Later the invitation was extended to me. At first, I thought he was kidding around… I thought the invitation was jest. He assured me that the invitation was genuine. The door had been opened.

As much as I dislike flying, the invitation was one that I could not refuse. It was an opportunity that I did not want to miss. Many times, I had wondered about the continent that was the birth place of ancestors… without whom my existence would not be.

The invitation had been offered in early June. Not until I began to get inoculated and actually bought my ticket did I begin to realize that I was very serious about this trip. The flight was scheduled for August 1, 1992… destination… Accra, Ghana.

Approximately 3 days prior to the departure date, I began to feel exuberant and became more eager and excited about seeing a part of West Africa.

Thursday, July 30 - I had lunch with the old work gang, i.e. Carolyn Hill, Marge Newsome, Dorian Walden and Doris Robinson. Carolyn’s daughter had recently died. After the funeral, Doris had suggested that we take Carolyn out to lunch upon her return to work. Dorian had suggested that Doris take responsibility for arranging the lunch. We all knew that Doris’ prior behavior had manifested a style that was somewhat remiss when responding to plans that had been made.

Not to be outdone, Doris took care of business… arranging rides and telling us what time to meet at the Red Lobster Inn in Piscataway, New Jersey. I thought the get together was nice enough although much of the conversation shifted toward ‘lady talk’. Each of them (I think) promised to pray that I would have a safe flight to and from Ghana. After lunch, we all embraced warmly, and they wished me all the best.

Friday, July